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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282903">Nothing else matters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream'>do_androids_dream</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Adventure &amp; Romance, Affection, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama &amp; Romance, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Existential Crisis, Feelings, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Identity Issues, Kissing, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Problems, Psychological Trauma, The Witcher Rarepair, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:34:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In dealing with the aftermath of his last serious injury, Geralt has to realize that his life could change radically. Maybe there is still a chance - but for that Geralt has to team up with the annoying cat school witcher once more. And of course everything goes wrong again ... </p><p>Or: Geralt has issues (and sex with Emhyr), Triss might have a secret and someone breaks a bone. Ouch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ask me no questions, send me no spies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Playlist (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNN0QGNgLD0ES9qu2J0I_wcGv5meij8Cr">Youtube,</a> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3vjUXDC1myfy1ZKASwJiLR?si=41-3d_wzThmjkZYFLIFjVg">Spotify</a>).<br/>There's a <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21dDBWXAnqeuNdiUamHmfC?si=VHv79pXCTd-T4ti2Q_NYUQ">second playlist</a> for the songs featured in the chapter titles this time - because those titles have meanings ;)</p><p>Special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades_0f_cool/pseuds/angelzoo">angelzoo</a>, my extremely patient, extremely clever and extremely brilliant beta reader.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>— Ask me no questions, send me no spies —</strong>
</p><p>"He's done <em>what</em>?“<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr looks at his chamberlain with an expression that is hard to read - even for Meredid, who has served him for a long time. But if he had to guess, he would assume that this look fluctuates between disbelief and anger. It seems hard to believe, that the witcher could do anything to draw the Emperor’s wrath these days. Of course, he would never go so far as to claim that the Emperor is going soft. This would probably be a fatal mistake. Besides, it is not his place to question his master's relationship with the witcher. In any case, the witcher's conduct is hardly befitting the etiquette of the palace, that's all that matters to Meredid. And in the end he prefers that the Emperor learns about this from him and not from the guards who picked up the man.<br/>
<br/>
So he repeats the story: that the guards in the lower town were called to a tavern because an extremely drunk Geralt of Rivia had instigated a brawl there. That alone would have been scandalous enough, but to make matters worse, he had attacked five men for no reason. He had broken two noses and one shin, demolished half of the bar and in the end caused a much bigger brawl. This had basically nothing to do with him any more, but after numerous beer mugs and chairs had flown through the air, more noses had been broken and a window had been smashed, he was blamed - not quite wrongly - for it.<br/>
<br/>
The only good thing was - at least from a certain point of view - that the witcher had not carried any weapons with him. They would not have been allowed in the city anyway, but that was a small consolation, since he had caused enough damage as it was. It had taken five guards to overpower him - in the end he was probably just too drunk to continue resisting. They had possessed enough brains not to throw him into prison (maybe they just hadn't dared, after all, his relation to the Emperor was known). So they brought him back to the palace. But now not only the guards were waiting at the door to Emhyr's study, wanting to know how things should go on, but also the angry owner of the tavern.<br/>
<br/>
"This better not be a stupid banter," says Emhyr with his eyebrows raised.<br/>
Meredid looks almost shocked. "I would never allow myself…"<br/>
Emhyr silences him with a gesture. He leans back in his chair and taps his fingers around on the desk - now a clear sign that something is bothering him.<br/>
"Where is he now?" he asks.<br/>
"At the door," Meredid replies.<br/>
"What, with the guards and the innkeeper? Do you want him to tear apart half my palace as well? Bring him in first."<br/>
The chamberlain nods and turns to face the door. 
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Geralt is accompanied by two guards when he enters. Emhyr doesn't look at him, he finishes what he did first when Meredid interrupted him. So he signs a paper, wondering if he even read it, but it helps him to think. Then he waves the guards away without looking up. This spares him their irritated looks - and them the reprimand that would probably have followed. <br/>
Up to this point, not a word has been exchanged, and Geralt doesn't intend to be the first to say anything. He can play the game just as well, so he just stands still, which admittedly isn't easy, not only because of the leg, but also because he's really damn drunk. He'd like to lean on this desk right now, but he's not going to show any weakness.
It's obvious that Emhyr is upset. He keeps writing for a while longer, until finally he puts the pen down. No, he doesn't just <em>put</em> it down, he throws it on the table, which Geralt doesn't miss.<br/>
<br/>
"Any explanation?" he says succinctly.<br/>
<br/>
His voice is cool, if not entirely without affection. Of course, Geralt's behavior is impossible, but he'd still like to understand. Geralt’s mood might have been a bit darker than usual in the last few days, but Emhyr was too busy or too careless to actually register that. Which was obviously a mistake.<br/>
Finally he looks up, because Geralt can't help it now, he has to hold on to the table. Emhyr has seen him like this a hundred times now, battered and bruised, but he will never get used to it. Not entirely. He looks terrible: he's bleeding from a laceration above his eyebrow, which is a real mess. His shirt is torn, and all in all he really does look like a street bully.
He's staggering, not only because he’s drunk, but that is his own fault. They had a crutch made for him, but he never uses it, and this time Emhyr is glad about it, because he could have used it as a weapon.<br/>
<br/>
"You could have killed somebody,“ he remarks.<br/>
"But I didn't", Geralt slurs.<br/>
Emhyr just sighs.<br/>
"Maybe you have some suicidal tendencies?" he says, and now his voice drips with sarcasm. "Because it looks ... oh."</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Now he finally understands. He tugs his eyebrows together, looks at Geralt attentively for a moment, but his face doesn't reveal anything except that he seems to be extremely drunk and also as if he would fall over any moment.<br/>
Emhyr pushes the chair back, gets up, walks towards him and grabs his arm. He almost expects Geralt to shake him off, but he doesn't even look angry. Actually, Emhyr doesn't know what to expect when Geralt is in this state. He could be the kind of drunkard who starts singing funny songs, but after he beat up several men, he doubts it. 
He takes his arm, pulls him around the table, and Geralt doesn't fight back. He pushes him into the chair and says roughly, "Sit down, and I warn you, don't throw up in my study." 
Then he opens a drawer at his desk, takes out a handkerchief and presses it into his hand.<br/>
<br/>
"You're bleeding," Emhyr says unnecessarily.<br/>
Geralt hums and presses the cloth against his forehead.<br/>
"'S nearly healed," he grumbles, which is not true, but it doesn't matter.<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr leans against the table and looks at him calmly.<br/>
"Perhaps. But this is about what doesn't heal, isn't it?“<br/>
Geralt's expression changes. He doesn't necessarily look upset - in fact, it could be a whole range of, sometimes contradictory, feelings that are currently showing on his face. What matters is that Emhyr sees that he is right.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Three days ago they had a serious conversation with Triss Merigold, who in the meantime had officially left Kovir and had become his court sorceress. She had said what they all suspected for quite some time: that Geralt's broken - actually completely shattered - leg did not heal as it should. Progress was insufficient: his movements were far too stiff, his knee could hardly be bent, he was still limping. He didn't talk about pain, but Emhyr suspected that part of his mood was due to it. They could not deepen the conversation at that time, there were - as always - other, more important things. Emhyr regrets this now, because Geralt seems to have drawn only one conclusion from it.

"We may have reached the limits of what magic can do," Merigold had said. Geralt is aware of that, and it wasn't the first time that this very leg suffered shattered bones. He had expected aftereffects. But there was a difference between, say, more pain in rainy weather and the loss of control that would inevitably occur if the leg never fully recovered.<br/>
<br/>
For two days he had been brooding away, in an even darker mood than before, and now he had taken out his frustration on some guys in the tavern. That is a side of Geralt that surprises Emhyr. Although among the numerous reports he had received over and over again in the past years - before anything happened between them - there had been some that suggested such behavior. He knows that Geralt can be unpredictable when necessary, but that had been in completely different situations. And he has already experienced him at the very bottom - why hadn't he thought of that? He thinks about what he should say. If there is anything at all he can tell him. His anger is gone. His feelings for the man are too deep for him not to understand what is driving him. He only wished he'd understand a little earlier.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"Has it not occurred to you that there might be another way to deal with this?" he asks softly. "At least without breaking people's noses and causing a riot in the city.“<br/>
"Sure," Geralt says. He hiccups, which doesn’t quite give his next words the desired effect.<br/>
"You could fuck me senseless, 'twould probably help.“<br/>
"You're drunk.“<br/>
"Is that a no?"<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr snorts.<br/>
"Well, let’s see. You smell like a whole brewery, you're out of your mind and you're bleeding all over my carpet right now. Oh, and then there is the fact that I have to deal with the guards, an angry innkeeper, and probably five battered guys as well. So, yes. I would say that is a no."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt grins. He is actually too drunk to realize this, but he will regret it quite a bit tomorrow, Emhyr is sure of that. Otherwise, he'll make sure he regrets it.<br/>
"Get out," he says now. "Sleep it off while I fix this."<br/>
Geralt tries, grunting, to get up, fails twice, and with some help he finally manages to stand.<br/>
Emhyr calls for Meredid, who has been waiting outside the door - which had been a rather unpleasant experience, because if Emhyr had waited a little longer, there would probably have been some commotion out there.<br/>
<br/>
When his chamberlain comes in, Emhyr points to Geralt and says succinctly, "A bath, food, sleep."<br/>
Meredid can barely control himself, so as not to turn up his nose - that is not exactly part of his duties, but then again, orders from the Emperor are … well, orders from the Emperor.<br/>
And so it is done.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title is a line from "Love me forever" by Motörhead.</p><p>Complain about that on <a href="https://twitter.com/DreamAndroids">Twitter,</a> if you wish.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. We roll all night makin' heavy sounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>— We roll all night makin' heavy sounds —</strong>
</p><p>He doesn't see him again until the next evening. Emhyr realizes that he has put his chamberlain through quite a lot when he saddled him with a drunken witcher. The man is far too stiff and too dutiful to actually complain to him, and he is not prone to exaggeration, but he had also spared him hardly any details.<br/>
<br/>
According to this, he had to save Geralt from drowning in the bathtub, whereupon he received an unambiguous offer (the words of which actually made Emhyr lose his composure for a moment). Later, the expected vomiting happened - bringing him food had actually not been the best idea. Finally, Geralt had passed out two steps in front of the bed, and Meredid had his trials and tribulations - it would not have been easy for anyone to pick up the witcher from the floor and take him to bed.<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr had preferred not to observe this and slept elsewhere. When he wanted to check on him in the morning, Geralt was still sleeping - a slightly snoring catastrophe of tangled hair and a half-naked body, that was partially protruding from the bed. The sight made it surprisingly difficult to be angry with him for a longer time. They had never really argued before, which seemed like a miracle to him, considering how different they were. Only that their differences actually were much smaller than they might have seemed from the outside.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He had been busy all day and Geralt hadn't shown up, but he rarely did when he knew that Emhyr was pursuing his usual "political banter“, as he called it. Now, however he finds him in his bedroom. When he enters, Emhyr believes for a moment that Geralt has read another cheap romance novel, because the sight of this reminds him of it. The room is lit by numerous candles, and Geralt stands by the open window, his upper body naked save for his wolf medallion, like he was planning on going to sleep soon. He wears light trousers, but he is barefoot. The floor is not warm, despite the spring; it is never really warm in this palace, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He wears his hair loose. There is a bottle of wine on the windowsill, two filled glasses; he is holding one of them in his hand, it is already half empty. Moonlight shines dramatically in through the window - it's all rather cheesy, but the sight doesn't fail to have its effect.<br/>
<br/>
When he comes closer, Geralt wordlessly hands him the other glass. He takes it, looks at it thoughtfully for a moment and then says, "One would think you've had enough of alcohol for a while."<br/>
Geralt shrugs his shoulders.<br/>
"You have to keep up your level, or the hangover will only get worse."<br/>
Emhyr raises his brows.<br/>
"The words of an alcoholic?"<br/>
"The words of Vesemir, actually. And he was not wrong.“<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr can't answer to that. He looks at the bottle on the windowsill, and he is puzzled. The label says "White Wolf".<br/>
"Your vineyard..." he starts, but Geralt interrupts him.<br/>
"No, it still doesn't yield anything," he replies regretfully. "Another winery. Long story."<br/>
Then he puts his glass down on the ledge and surprisingly takes Emhyr's own glass out of his hand again, only to put it down there, too.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," he says, but then he stops.<br/>
Emhyr just stands there, waiting; he watches him attentively, he won't make it any easier for him. But he stands very close to him. Geralt is close to him in every way, but now there's not even a handbreadth of space between them, and what he did yesterday is almost forgotten. The candlelight is reflected in his cat-like eyes. It is very quiet, the sounds of the city seem very far away, and the palace is calmer than usual despite the mild evening.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>It is unclear what should have followed this interrupted, half-hearted "Listen", but it is not words now. It's a kiss, and it shouldn't surprise Emhyr, but it is a bit surprising anyway. It's not unpleasant, not at all: even if all this is arranged just to make it up to him somehow, the kiss is gentle. At least in the beginning. Geralt almost kisses him carefully - he has every reason to do so, in case he wants to find out if Emhyr is still mad at him - and he lets his lips explore the mood.<br/>
<br/>
Anyway, the atmosphere doesn't seem to be bad at all, as Emhyr soon gives in and accepts the kiss. He accepts the lips, the soft teasing, the warmth and the embrace that follows. He accepts the hands at his back, they’re not moving yet, and he gives in to the tongue, which is now inquiring if it is welcome.<br/>
<br/>
He gets into it, he knows exactly where this is leading to - at least not to the conversation that is actually necessary. But this time he refuses to play the voice of reason. Geralt doesn't want to distract, he can sense that. They will talk about it later. But even if Geralt doesn't give the impression now, he is angry; a depressive kind of anger, the kind where he wants to make sure that at least something remains normal. This is what Emhyr believes, and he's very close to the truth.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Geralt only knows one life, nothing ever changed that: neither a pretty vineyard, nor the exuberant kindness and warmth of Toussaint, nor the dwindling aversion to the white sun on a black background solely because of those hazelnut eyes can change that. And he wants all of it: he wants both him and the life he is used to, and even if it does not seem to be measurable against each other, the loss of one of these would be devastating.<br/>
<br/>
He does not want to lose any of this, and he knows that he is on the verge of perhaps giving up life on the Path. It's not like he hasn't thought about it since he owned Corvo Bianco. And he would be lying if he did not admit that he sometimes loathed this life, as any witcher does. But there is still enough to do, and Geralt always has possessed a strange, unusual sense for - well, carrying out duties. If he would deepen this thought, he could see some common ground with Emhyr; but he usually doesn't think about these things, he often acts more or less instinctively. In any case, it is harder than expected for him to give up the idea of being a witcher. He didn’t choose this life, that is true. An ultimate truth has accompanied him throughout his life: that none of them will die in their beds. For some reason, it seems very difficult for him to believe otherwise. That's why it's so hard for him to accept that this might not be his fate, but there are no crippled witchers. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem right.<br/>
<br/>
And therefore there is much in this kiss: the desire to make sure that his life has continuity, even if it should change. The need to make sure that nothing changes. The wish that, if something changes, at least <em>this</em> won’t. There is a kind of desperation in the kiss that Emhyr clearly feels, but he doesn't know how to react. If that's what Geralt needs and wants now, then that's something he can give him. He is not the type to give in easily, but he can do it now.<br/>
<br/>
It's easy, because all the ingredients for the cheesy romance novel are already there: the half-naked hero, candlelight, wine, and a bed. He could do without everything but the half-naked hero, of course. The latter knows this very well, and he feels it, too, because his effect on Emhyr is pretty obvious now, as he holds him very tight. Obviously, he is certain of victory, because Emhyr feels a smile of this mouth on his. He opens his eyes and yes, the amber eyes look at him, the sparkle in them has nothing to do with the candlelight.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Then Geralt becomes bold, and that is easy, because they are standing right in front of the bed; so he pushes him on it. Emhyr falls backwards, and then Geralt is already above him. That means more kisses, more demanding now. At the same time the attempt to free him from clothes, which is not easy when lying down, but little by little the formal garment disappears, and soon even the shirt underneath it is gone - with a little help.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt reaches up briefly, pushes the medallion on his back - he would never take it off, but he knows it's cold and that Emhyr doesn't like the feeling of it on his naked skin. Now he lies on him, so tight that they both feel each other's hardness through the last remaining fabric. This is the moment Emhyr chooses to reclaim his possessions, so to speak. He clutches Geralt, and because admittedly, with that leg, there's a certain disadvantage, it's easy to tip him over. Now Emhyr has the upper hand, sitting directly on Geralt's lap, grabbing his wrists and pushing his arms to the side.<br/>
<br/>
He smiles one of his rare smiles, yes, maybe as confident of victory as Geralt before. But Geralt just laughs softly into the now following kiss and whispers, "So you think you have me now?" Emhyr should have foreseen this, a mistake with consequences: Geralt uses the pressure of Emhyr's hands on his wrists to push him upwards, he turns around with him once more, and now Emhyr is lying under him again. He briefly sits on Emhyr's thighs, but that’s hard with a knee that won’t bend, so he lies on top of him once more and kisses the spot on his neck where he knows exactly that he is sensitive there. This is his first real success, because now Emhyr utters a little sound. Geralt smiles and kisses the spot again, he runs his tongue over it, and the sound repeats.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>It is not easy to get the trousers off while lying down, and there is a lot of groping and tugging, and they laugh at themselves, and the laughter is smothered in kisses. For a while they just lie naked on each other, enjoying the touch, the mutual desire. But all of a sudden, Geralt's expression changes. He spits in his hand and reaches down, grabbing Emhyr's hard-on with one hand, using his spit and Emhyrs pre-cum as a rudimentary lubricant. He starts to stroke him, and he buries his face in the pit of Emhyr’s neck and hums against it. Suddenly, he let’s go of him and starts pushing his ass against Emhyr’s hard cock.<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr is astonished by the impatience, also by the unusual ferocity - because, surprisingly enough, this wolf is usually an enjoyable lover, a great devotee of excessive foreplay. But this seems to be a matter of confirmation. Emhyr has nothing against this way of proving such things to him, but he still wishes he could make it clear to him in another way. But now it is too late - this conversation will have to wait.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what?" he whispers into the warm cheek at his neck.<br/>
"I only know one thing," Geralt mumbles as he reaches down, grabs Emhyr's hard-on once again and rhythmically slaps it against his ass. "That I still want you to fuck me senseless." Emhyr lets out one of his scarce little laughs. And then he surprises Geralt, because he pushes him up and on his back again, and then he sits enthroned above him, holding his dick in his hand, close to Geralt's mouth. "Then you have to do it right," he says quite casually, and Geralt shifts, rears up, rests on his elbows. And then he willingly opens his mouth and takes him in.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt looks up at him while he sucks him, he’s smiling through his efforts - he likes this, and he knows just what to do to make Emhyr like this. This quickly becomes clear as Emhyr soon reaches into his hair and holds him; holds his head, takes control and - slowly yet - fucks his mouth. It's a sensational feeling, every time - warm and tight, an intimate kind of give and take. They do that a lot, it's one of the things they both love almost more than anything else - and by the gods, they were already very creative. It's the kind of passion play that is often the prelude to long and extensive lovemaking. But not tonight, that much is clear to Emhyr. Geralt's impatience may have a deeper reason, but above all it has an impact on Emhyr. He has to withdraw much too soon, if he wants this to last. So he draws back, his cock full of Geralt’s saliva now, but it won’t be enough, and he slips down.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>He carefully pushes Geralt’s left leg a little to the side, there’s not much he can do, but Geralt reacts immediately and bends his right leg to make room. He’s humming again, knowing what will come, and a second later he feels Emhyr spreading his ass cheeks, and the tongue is soon to follow. He doesn’t dwell on the outer rim - this is no foreplay, this is preparation, that much is clear. He is straightforward, he doesn’t tease, but still he is tender. Emhyr’s licking him, stopping only briefly to watch him when Geralt tenses up; but it’s all good, he closes his eyes, he pushes against him - that’s how eager he is. So he licks him again, probingly pushes against his hole a little, goes round, goes in; this is smooth, he can tell, not only by the most appreciative sounds he hears. He lets a finger follow, very slowly, and for a second, there is a resistance. So he keeps on licking, caressing him with his tongue, and now he’s letting him in. Geralt’s hissing, but he’s also pushing his butt against him, and Emhyr can feel him being both tense and impatient now. He thrusts just a little more with his finger, if only to watch his reaction.<br/>
<br/>
And then, for a brief moment, he's gone. Geralt, with his eyes still closed, feels how he bends over him, smells him, feels how he briefly touches his cheek. He hears him searching the drawer, he hears the sound of a cork being pulled out of a bottle. A harsh smell mingles with Emhyr's own. Geralt's senses are always delicate, but now he seems to perceive everything twice as strongly. In no time Emhyr lies upon him again, resting on one elbow, watching him for a moment, because now he opens his eyes again: they are golden now and glossy with desire. He kisses him, lets him taste himself. And finally Geralt feels him: he is pushing very slowly, very carefully trying to find out if this is enough - and it is, he can feel him entering. He has missed this sensational feeling, and although it stings a little and he softly moans into Emhyr’s mouth, Emhyr knows that this sound is a lot, but not a sign to stop. Geralt is so eager, he pushes against him, and soon Emhyr doesn’t need his hand for support. He bends Geralt’s right leg as far as he can, and he pushes on, further and further. Geralt’s eyes are wide open now, he embraces him tightly, holds onto Emhyr’s ass and pushes him down faster. And then he fills him up completely, and Emhyr takes his time to savour the moment. The body beneath him is tense, the mouth under his is breathing a little faster into his own. He withdraws almost completely and pushes back in. He lets go of the kiss, and Geralt exhales loudly.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>There is no need to ask if this is what he wants, if this is what he needs: Emhyr can see that very clearly. He can see it in Geralt’s face, and he can hear it in the little noises he makes. And he devours this with every slow thrust. He can feel that Geralt wants him to go faster by the way he grabs him by the ass, still pushing him, but he can also feel that he is trying to move his left leg in a way he just can’t, and he’s trying too hard. So he gently pushes him down.<br/>
"Don’t," he whispers into Geralt’s ear. "I got this."<br/>
Geralt doesn’t answer, he just looks at him with that unique challenging look.<br/>
"Oh, you don't believe me?" mumbles Emhyr, almost completely retreats once more and then thrusts back harder than before.<br/>
<br/>
With this, he elicits a small groan from Geralt, but he is still grinning.<br/>
"Not enough?"<br/>
He bends over, kisses him, harder now, and Geralt hums something incomprehensible into this kiss.<br/>
"What?" asks Emhyr; he’s smiling now, he knows exactly what Geralt wants to say.<br/>
"It's never enough," Geralt repeats in a somewhat raspy voice.<br/>
So he not only increases his speed, his thrusts become rougher, and that makes an impact.<br/>
Geralt’s eyes roll back, one hand lets go of Emhyr's bottom and claws into the sheets.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>But in this way he still can't reach him the way he wants, Emhyr knows that. And it might be a little risky, but it's worth a try. So he withdraws himself from Geralt for a short time, causing protesting noises - which he enjoys very much, by the way - and starts to turn him carefully onto his side without further ado. Geralt catches on immediately and turns around. He is now lying on his left leg, which is what's a bit risky about it; but Emhyr thinks it will work.<br/>
<br/>
Now he lifts Geralt's other leg, presses himself against his ass, moistens his fingers again, prepares him once more, much more quickly. Then, without warning, he pushes himself in. The groaning that follows is almost a little scream, so he pauses for a moment, kissing his neck - but Geralt pushes back against him, asking him wordlessly to continue. Emhyr bends Geralt's right leg a little more, and now he reaches completely new angles. He presses himself very close to him, pushes faster, harder.<br/>
<br/>
He feels salty sweat under his tongue as he starts to lick Geralt's neck. He doesn't seem to be able to do anything but press his head into the pillow, clutching one hand to it, and the other one moves restlessly around, as if it’s searching for something to hold on to. And then Emhyr reaches this certain point, this one angle, and the soft moans turn into choppy screams. The wolf howls, that's his merit, and this fact alone makes sure that he is very close now.<br/>
<br/>
His hand rushes forward, covers Geralt's mouth. "You'll alarm the guards," he whispers. But the sounds don't stop, they are only muffled now, and Emhyr knows very well that Geralt couldn't stop now, even if he wanted to. And he himself can't hold on much longer either. "Promise you’ll be silent,“ he says, and he needn’t say any more, because Geralt knows very well what will follow. So he just nods, and Emhyr drops his hand from his mouth, and he pushes a little harder just to make sure he can do this. Geralt stuffs his own fist in his mouth, and he can still hear him uttering a muffled "Fuck" - but he doesn’t scream anymore. So Emhyr reaches forward, grabs Geralt's cock and starts stroking it to the rhythm of his thrusts.<br/>
<br/>
The suppressed noises become deeper, and Geralt's free hand tries to reach back - to do what? Stop him or cheer him on? It's too late to stop. The hand darts to the front again, grabs the pillow. He presses it into his face and roars a faint scream into it when he comes. Emhyr holds him as long as he twitches, then he grabs his hips and pushes even harder. Geralt feels his breath on his ear, chopped off now, with small, short moaning sounds, and when Emhyr is ready, he bites his shoulder so as not to scream himself. It hurts, but that doesn't matter. A few uncontrolled hip thrusts later he sighs in Geralt's ear, then kisses his neck.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>They lie there for a while, catching their breath; entwined bodies, interlocked fingers on the sheets. Geralt suddenly turns around, even if this means that Emhyr slips out of him and they both make quite a mess. He looks into his eyes. His voice is low and, in a way, both serious and insecure.<br/>
<br/>
"Promise me..."<br/>
But he doesn't say anything else.<br/>
"What shall I promise you?" Emhyr asks and brushes the tangled hair from Geralt’s face.<br/>
"Do you really need to hear that this is not going to stop?"<br/>
He can see in Geralt’s eyes that he's hit the mark, even if he doesn't answer.<br/>
"You always were an idiot," Emhyr whispers.<br/>
"This is your love confession?" growls Geralt.<br/>
"Why not? At least I will admit you’re <i>my</i> idiot."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't like change,“ Geralt suddenly mumbles.<br/>
Emhyr raises his eyebrows.<br/>
"Nothing changes."<br/>
"Emhyr..."<br/>
Again, he doesn't continue.<br/>
"Nothing changes," Emhyr repeats determinedly.<br/>
"But what if... "<br/>
Emhyr grabs his shoulder, pulls him closer and presses his mouth against Geralts. The kiss is a promise.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Finally, he says, "Are we going to talk about yesterday?"<br/>
Geralt utters a sigh.<br/>
"I can pay for the damage," he grumbles.<br/>
"Oh, did you think I would?" Emhyr asks, amused.<br/>
Geralt snorts. Then Emhyr looks at him seriously and remarks: "You can't go rioting in my city just because you lack impulse control."<br/>
Geralt laughs softly.<br/>
"First of all: your city? And secondly: I what?"<br/>
"As long as I'm here, this is my city. And you might at least try not to complicate our already somewhat odd reputation."<br/>
Geralt wrinkles his nose.<br/>
"I suppose that wasn't my best performance," he says then. It is the highest level of assent that Emhyr will get from him, that much is clear. And he'll surely not apologise.<br/>
<br/>
"Certainly not," Emhyr replies. "Listen," he then continues in a more serious tone, "we will discuss all this again with Merigold. In peace. We will consider all the alternatives, all the possibilities."<br/>
Geralt, unnerved, turns on his back and stares at the ceiling.<br/>
"I don't know if there are any left."<br/>
"Exactly, you don't know. And we haven't given it much thought."<br/>
"I don't want to think about it either."<br/>
"No? You'd rather beat people up and puke your guts out? Fine, but not with me. In this place, we play by my rules."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, do we?" Geralt asks and turns his head to look at him.<br/>
Emhyr clearly sees the twinkle in Geralt's eyes.<br/>
"Are you trying to change the topic?"<br/>
"Me? You said we were playing by your rules," Geralt says and grabs Emhyr's ass. "So let's play again."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title is a line from "Love you to death" by Judas Priest. You could love ME to death by leaving a comment, btw. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Every little secret has a lie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>— Every little secret has a lie —</strong>
</p><p>They meet Triss already the next day, which makes Geralt realize that Emhyr must have planned this beforehand. Triss' behavior confirms his suspicions: When she enters the study, she throws a heavy tome on the table.<br/>
"I've done a lot of research,“ she says instead of a greeting, but Emhyr doesn't even frown, as Geralt notices very well. He has already gotten used to the peculiarities of his new court sorceress. It seems easier for him than for Geralt, who sometimes still wonders at which point of the past events Triss has changed. But it's also always the moment when he has to remind himself that it's not up to him to judge if this is a good change - or even if he likes it at all.<br/>
<br/>
"With what result?" Emhyr asks, as if he already knows exactly what she was researching. That's probably the case, but Geralt once again has no clue. That's a strange feeling, because after all it's about him, and strangely enough he has the hunch that this must be similar to how Ciri always felt: when people who are close to you don't include you in their decisions. He at least has the foresight to admit to himself that they are doing this for his own good - but they also always meant well with Ciri, and in the end they drove her away. Geralt knows very well that this isn't entirely true, but that doesn’t change the fact that it feels that way. After she had informed Emhyr that she didn't think about taking over his succession so soon after all, she had disappeared. For an indefinite time and to an indefinite place.<br/>
<br/>
He shakes off the thought and turns towards Triss, who has flipped the pages of the book to a spot she has marked. Geralt bends over the table and almost collides with Emhyr, who does the same on the other side of the desk. Emhyr shakes his head slightly, while they both look at the book page. They see the picture of a flower coloured in bright yellow, a rather ordinary looking plant with a high, racemic inflorescence and rich green, roundish leaves.<br/>
<br/>
"And this is what?" Emhyr asks impatiently. Triss isn't impressed by this; it's a trait that will sooner or later earn her either his anger or his respect.<br/>
"Melilot," she answers. "An apparently almost forgotten medicinal plant that was once far more widely used."<br/>
"Never heard of it," Geralt says skeptically.<br/>
"Among other things, it doesn't grow in sandstone mountains," explains Triss.<br/>
"Well, and what does this plant do?" Emhyr demands to know.<br/>
<br/>
"In and of itself the plant already has various properties as a medicinal herb, for example it has a healing effect on the vessel walls, improves the lymphatic circulation and the like. But what is really important" - she stops briefly and drums impatiently with the fingers of her right hand on the second page of the book. This one shows no drawing, it is completely filled with an extremely small handwriting.<br/>
"What is really important," she continues, "is written here. This plant is needed for a spell that can restore movement in even completely stiffened limbs.“</p><p> </p><p>"Allegedly," Geralt replies doubtfully. He leans deeper over the book. This way, he catches Emhyr’s familiar and soothing scent - he is leaning both hands on the desk and twists his head to make sense of the words on the page. But he is just as unsuccessful as Geralt, because the writing seems to be completely illegible to him, the words in an apparently foreign language. Their fingertips touch each other on the tabletop, and he somehow has the feeling that the past, rather sleepless night is clearly reflected on their faces.<br/>
"Well, granted, I've never tried this spell," says Triss. "It's powerful magic that requires many ingredients - this plant is just one of them. And I'm sure we won't find it at any herbalist for miles around."<br/>
<br/>
"So where does that leave us? You said yourself that you believe that magic has its limits," Geralt utters with a frown.<br/>
Triss looks almost guilty for a moment, as if she thinks she had said something she shouldn't have said.<br/>
"Magic has its limits, yes," she however replies snippily. "But I am not omniscient. I've been working nights because I didn't want to believe that we've exhausted all possibilities. It would be very helpful if you would believe in this, too."<br/>
Geralt notices the strange look Emhyr is giving Triss, but he can't quite place it. So he lifts his hands appeasingly and slowly replies, "I'm sorry. I know I'm too impatient." Now they both stare at him in disbelief. It's rare that Geralt talks so openly about himself - and even more rare that he admits a weakness.<br/>
<br/>
Triss is recovering fast. She nods.<br/>
"I used rather conventional magic to promote your healing," she says, much more gently now. "It seemed to be the softer approach, after I had to use really strong and certainly unpleasant spells before.“<br/>
Geralt pulls a wry face. He has no real memory of the very first days after the fall, but he remembers very well the time after. He recalls the different methods both Regis and Triss used to relieve the pain - a good part of which was actually caused by the restored bones, the patched tendons and muscles. The completely destroyed leg had caused hardly any worse pain than the restored one, but that is the price of such powerful healing.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders for a moment what Emhyr is thinking about right now. Because he himself recalls, although he was kind of dazed at the time, that Emhyr made him some kind of promise. And he still wants it - not now, maybe not even in the near future, but someday. Is it selfish that he wants to be as whole, as intact as possible for this indefinite moment? He knows very well that there is enough in him that is damaged, even if he is not wounded. But the same goes for Emhyr. They're both far from perfect, and that's all right. But at least on the outside, Geralt doesn't want to be - well, crippled. He's already looking at the leg that way, even if it has not come this far yet. So he forces himself to be open to whatever Triss thinks she's found out. Geralt does not believe in mysterious miracle cures. Rather, he believes he was spared for decades. That somehow he was always lucky to have all his body parts preserved. Outrageously lucky, considering he died twice. If he believes in anything at all, maybe it's that destiny is taking its revenge. This is basically as much nonsense as anything else, but he has never been known as the greatest optimist.<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you suggest?" he asks.<br/>
Emhyr looks for a moment as if he wants to say something, but instead, an expression flashes over his face that, as usual, is unreadable, and he sits down behind his desk again. Triss looks at Emhyr first - why? - and then at Geralt, before she answers.<br/>
"I think it will take a while to get all the ingredients. I might even have to go to Zerrikania. But in the meantime, you could get that flower."<br/>
"What, me?"<br/>
<br/>
Geralt actually sounds surprised. Triss, on the other hand, sounds a little testy.<br/>
"Geralt, you're capable of walking, and I bet you would be able to ride, too, at least for a little while. Anyway, I’m gonna open up a portal to North March for both of you."<br/>
"Why the both of us?" Geralt asks confused, and looks at Emhyr. He shakes his head.<br/>
"Don't be ridiculous. I appreciate the effort this takes, but I'm certainly not gonna crawl through the countryside looking for some flower. You’ll take the other witcher with you."<br/>
"Pardon, what?" Geralt replies sharply.</p><p> </p><p>Emhyr withstands his gaze, of course, just as this temporary outburst of anger bounces off him.<br/>
"Geralt," he says in a tone as if he had to explain something to a child, "the point of this whole thing is that you're not well. And even though I agree with my advisor that finding this plant is probably safe, I'm certainly not going to take any risks. Just think of him as your personal bodyguard."<br/>
Geralt is speechless for a moment. Emhyr actually seems kind of satisfied for a moment, then he continues.<br/>
"You're restless," he states. "You're bored, you're frustrated. You don't want to go back to your vineyard, nor are you really satisfied here. I think it's possible you could use a change."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt thinks that maybe the opposite will happen: that it would be just another reminder of what he might lose. In the end, it might all be futile. But most of all, he is almost shocked by how openly Emhyr speaks and how accurately he judges him. This shouldn't surprise him, but it does. And he is surprised that he says all of this in front of Triss. This proves something, even if it is not yet completely clear to him what exactly.<br/>
<br/>
"Adan is needed here," he says feebly.<br/>
"Seriously?" Emhyr replies in a tone of voice which - by his standards - is very close to an unnerved sigh. "Honestly, I'm actually grateful if I don't have to see this annoying person for a while. I still don't know how to get rid of him."<br/>
Triss starts giggling. It's a typical Triss sound, but Emhyr isn’t familiar with it yet; he looks at her with a strange expression on his face.<br/>
"He's actually kind of annoying, isn't he?" she says. But she still hasn't got a grip on herself after all these years - she actually blushes.<br/>
<br/>
"You can kick him out anytime," Geralt suggests.<br/>
"I realize that diplomacy is not your strongest suit, but you underestimate the significant role the man played in saving your life."<br/>
"<i>My</i> life was never on the line," Geralt says heatedly.<br/>
"Coincidentally, I am in possession of an extremely detailed report by your treating healers, that suggests otherwise,“ Emhyr replies, intentionally particularly peaceful.<br/>
Geralt looks at Triss, but she only shrugs her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>"So you both suggest that I take a trip into the wilderness with an unpredictable cat school witcher as my nanny," Geralt states in a somewhat unnerved tone.<br/>
"As your escort," Emhyr corrects.<br/>
His voice makes it clear that any further discussion is superfluous.<br/>
<br/>
"I have a feeling that you rather want to get rid of me, not him,“ Geralt says to Emhyr.<br/>
Emhyr almost seems to smile. Almost.<br/>
"You're quite annoying yourself, yes."<br/>
Geralt raises his brows.<br/>
"You will be sorry about that," he replies.<br/>
Emhyr leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and purses his lips.<br/>
"Are you threatening me? I have guards outside the door."<br/>
<br/>
Triss clears her throat. "Get a room," she says. "Or no, take this one. I have to leave anyway."<br/>
With these words she grabs the book from the table, nods at both of them and leaves the room.<br/>
Geralt looks after her briefly, then he gazes at Emhyr. He raises his hand and stops Geralt before he can even open his mouth.<br/>
"Save any comments about whether I can manage on my own."<br/>
"I wasn't going to ..."<br/>
"I'm not arguing with you."<br/>
"I wasn’t ..."<br/>
"You'd better leave," says Emhyr, turning to his papers. "Prepare yourself, pick up this witcher. Have fun."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Fun?"</i><br/>
Geralt leans over the table, hands resting on the tabletop, until his face is very close to Emhyr's. He looks at him intently.<br/>
"Is this some strange, quirky form of punishment? Are you <i>resentful</i> in the end?"<br/>
Emhyr looks up at him for a moment.<br/>
"Resentful? Were I vindictive, or seeking punishment, I would have taken Cidaris when it was lying at my feet without a king. So don't give me that just because you allowed yourself to puke in my chambers."<br/>
Geralt eyes widen in unmistakable surprise, but Emhyr, again, won’t let him finish.<br/>
"Let me work," he says calmly. "Go find your flower, and this time make sure you don't break anything."<br/>
"You have a strange sense of humour sometimes," Geralt replies dryly.<br/>
"I gladly return the compliment. Only that you also have a strange way of showing it to the outside world."<br/>
"There's nothing like your insults," Geralt says with a sigh, admits defeat and turns to the door.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title is a line from "Nearly forgot my broken heart" by Chris Cornell.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I fall apart like paper put to flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>— I fall apart like paper put to flame —</strong>
</p><p>It feels weird to be wearing armour again. And it's not his wolf armour, for obvious reasons: for one thing, it would probably be overkill to show up in full battle gear to pick flowers. For another, it's still under repair. Which reminds Geralt that not even four weeks have passed since the events that destroyed his armour, his leg and his pride. The latter may be exaggerated, even if not very much.<br/>
<br/>
He's wearing a lightweight, black leather armour, his hair has been tied back again after what seems a long time. Triss, facing him, ready for the portal, gives him a look he can't interpret.<br/>
"Why are you bringing your swords?" she asks.<br/>
"As if he's going somewhere without them," Adan replies, who suddenly turns the corner. And the feline is right for once - if he's already wearing his armour, he can also carry the swords. Even if no danger is to be expected. It just feels right. Adan is of course also fully equipped, no wonder considering he is supposed to act as a bodyguard. This thought is still gnawing at Geralt - he keeps thinking that this is Emhyr's idea of screwing him.<br/>
<br/>
The dark, curly hair of the elf is unusually dishevelled on one side. In fact, it looks as if he has just got out of bed, which is uncommon, because he usually already wanders around at dawn, sticking his nose into things that are none of his business. He has been hanging around the palace for weeks now, surprisingly causing no scandals. Geralt knows that Emhyr had him under surveillance, he has shown him the reports. They were surprisingly harmless. Neither has he visited a single one of the city's numerous taverns, nor has he ever been spotted in a brothel (although Geralt is not sure why this should harm the reputation of the elf). Some of the reports were strange: Adan has obviously bribed a kitchen maid to be the first to get a piece of sweet bread in the morning. That is perhaps a peculiar quirk, but not particularly scandalous. Far more interesting is the fact that he has dealt with a monster plague outside town and has done an impeccable job.<br/>
<br/>
All in all, he seems slick. There were a few, somewhat misplaced reports of people who had suddenly fainted in the corridors over the last few weeks, but there is no obvious connection to the witcher. Except that these people had randomly visited the same places as Adan - and happened to be informants for the imperial secret service. Which might seem a bit conspicuous, but in the end there is nothing to prove, and no harm was done. Emhyr remains suspicious despite the merits of the feline, either because it is a fundamental trait of his, or because Geralt distrusts Adan for some reason. In fact, he has already wondered whether he is the one who is resentful. And that is only because of the initially strange behaviour of the man - and because Adan is a cat school witcher. The first of these is undoubtedly silly, and the second bears witness to a bias that is ridiculous given his experience and age. But for some reason he cannot overcome it.<br/>
<br/>
"Besides," the latter continues now, "he may be a bit pissed off because I’m supposed to be his nanny. He's probably taking the swords with him so he can secretly dump me in the North March."<br/>
He says this, as usual, without a hint of humour, as a perfectly normal observation. He is, quite simply, still extremely annoying.<br/>
"Not that unlikely," Geralt replies in a tone as if this were a conversation about breakfast rolls.<br/>
<br/>
Triss rolls her eyes. "Little boys on a trip. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun. Geralt, do you recall what this flower looks like? Remember, it must be the yellow kind, it comes in different colors. Probably you’ll find it near caves."<br/>
"Probably?" Geralt echoes with a frown. "Wait a minute, what's our return ticket?"<br/>
"This," answers the elf instead of the sorceress, and he digs a small metal device out of a pocket on his hip. Geralt recognizes it immediately, it is a xenogloss.<br/>
"How many of these do you have, they are supposedly so rare?“ he asks Triss.<br/>
"This is Ciri's," she says succinctly.<br/>
Which means that she has cut off any possibility of communication to all of them, Geralt thinks. On purpose. But what surprises him even more is that Triss gave her second xenogloss to Adan of all people and not to him.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt shifts his balance, he didn't even notice that he was putting weight on his left leg the whole time.<br/>
"All right, let's get this over with," he growls.<br/>
"By the time you get back, I'll probably have the remaining ingredients," Triss replies cheerfully and raises her hands to generate the portal.<br/>
Geralt looks at her discontentedly.<br/>
"How long do you think it will take us to find that one flower?"<br/>
Triss creates the portal, which builds up flickering and shining blue right in front of them, then shrugs her shoulders.<br/>
"According to my sources, it's a very common plant in that area, but still not easy to find because it's easily confused. Just to be on the safe side, you can take samples of several plants. Don't worry about it. Adan has everything you need, in case it takes longer.“<br/>
He's actually carrying a bag over one shoulder.<br/>
Geralt sighs.<br/>
"After you," he says reluctantly to Adan and points to the portal.<br/>
The latter smirks.<br/>
"I heard about your preference for teleporters," the elf answers, then he walks through the portal.<br/>
Geralt raises his brows and looks at Triss.<br/>
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she says defiantly. "Why must I have been the one to tell him?"<br/>
"I didn't know that this was the talk of the town," mumbles Geralt and enters the teleport.</p><p> </p><p>He had expected a blooming grass landscape. Instead, they are greeted by a barren, almost endless plain of dry, dusty earth with scattered bushes and only a few more signs of sad vegetation.<br/>
"Is this even the North March?" he asks sullenly.<br/>
"Pretty sure," Adan replies, though he doesn't sound too sure.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt raises a hand in front of his eyes and looks into the distance against the sunlight.<br/>
"If there are any caves around here at all, they are in this direction," he says and points vaguely to the east.<br/>
Adan looks skeptically in the indicated direction, but then nods.<br/>
"Looks like our best chance," he says. "However, it's quite a long way on foot."<br/>
He casts a searching glance at Geralt.<br/>
Geralt noisily expels air.<br/>
"Let's go," he replies curtly.<br/>
<br/>
He's sure that this won't be a particularly funny walk, but actually it goes quite well for quite a long time. Of course he is limping, but he doesn't stop them - or maybe the elf doesn't give him the feeling that he does. And he doesn't give him much time at all to think about his leg, because he is constantly chattering. He talks about almost every single person in the palace, and he seems to know them all. Not surprisingly, his observations are precise: in the past, few weeks he has found out which guards are on duty and when; he seems to know the lodgings of every single servant and he made friends with the imperial pre-taster (from whom he has obviously done the work several times). He even knows when Meredid is not satisfied with his master's instructions - something that even Emhyr does not know and would be better off not knowing, because obviously his chamberlain has a habit of talking to himself. Geralt makes a mental note to convey this information to him as discreetly as possible.<br/>
<br/>
Adan seems to know the personal preferences of almost everyone in the palace, which Geralt finds almost unsettling - especially because he hints at slightly suggestive remarks about "certain noises". This time, however, a glance from Geralt seems to be enough, and he does not delve into the subject. They walk like this for quite a while, maybe an hour or two - in any case, the sun is already much higher in the sky when Adan suddenly says: "You know what I find strange?"<br/>
<br/>
Geralt doesn't answer, but that doesn't stop the other witcher. In this respect, Geralt thinks, he is quite like Dandelion. Also in the fact that he can never seem to keep his mouth shut. He has already compared the feline with Lambert once, which Triss found unflattering - for Lambert. Geralt wonders what she would say to this comparison. Adan rips him out of his thoughts.<br/>
<br/>
"This plant - how can it seem so ordinary and yet have such qualities at the same time?"<br/>
Geralt casts a glance at him.<br/>
"Many plants look ordinary, yet they are valuable potion ingredients," he interjects.<br/>
"That much is clear, or they have healing powers, like this flower. It's just that I've never heard of this plant. Or this spell."<br/>
"We are neither alchemists nor mages, Adan,“ Geralt says, slightly annoyed.<br/>
"By which you mean we wouldn't know anything about it? That's bullshit."<br/>
"Anyway, probably not enough to judge that,“ Geralt growls.<br/>
"Bollocks. I can list at least 175 plants that are part of potions, decoctions or ointments and tell you what purpose they serve. And you probably can, too."<br/>
"Maybe not 175," Geralt replies in a sarcastic voice.<br/>
"No? Maybe it's 200," Adan returns. "But I guess you had something else to do in the mountains besides memorizing the names of plants."<br/>
This is probably the most sarcastic tone of voice the elf is capable of, and Geralt decides not to start a pissing contest about witcher schools.</p><p> </p><p>"Let's stop over there for a moment,“ he finally says abruptly and points to the first clear sign of increasing vegetation: two puny little trees, hardly more than oversized bushes, but they offer at least some shade. He almost has the feeling that the mere thought of the supposed miraculous cure is causing him pain. At least he could use a little rest, so they use the little protection from the sun and sit under the trees. Geralt massages his outstretched leg, and Adan looks at him thoughtfully.<br/>
<br/>
"It's really a shame it's not better," he says in a calm tone. "Considering what an elaborate spell it was. I mean, that leg was actually mush."<br/>
"Guess what, I was there," Geralt replies cynically.<br/>
"Sure, but I don't think you were able to see it. Well, I mean, you felt it and all. It probably wasn't very pleasant. But there was indeed nothing left intact."<br/>
"Well, thanks a lot, I remember."<br/>
"Yeah, all right. I've never seen anything like it, anyway. At least not on any living person. Well... Anyway: The healing spell was a great art. The kind that's painful for both sides. But in the end - boom! - bones healed."<br/>
<br/>
Adan gestures vividly at these words.<br/>
"You talk about it as if you had been there," Geralt says with a slight mistrust in his voice. The other witcher laughs softly - an unusually pleasant sound.<br/>
"Not that I didn't find that interesting, but this daughter of yours certainly wouldn't have let me go anywhere near the place. She didn't even want your Emperor around. Who is <i>also</i> her father? I find these family relations fascinating.“<br/>
<br/>
Geralt rolls his eyes.<br/>
"Yes, all right. What I mean to say is that from what I've heard, this magic seemed beyond all doubt. That should have worked. You should be able to walk by now without any problems."<br/>
"I still wonder how you know so much about this particular magic," Geralt replies. "Besides, magic is not always flawless."<br/>
"You underestimate Triss' abilities," Adan says in a serious tone.<br/>
Geralt looks at him in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
But before he can ask him how the hell he thinks he knows Triss' <i>abilities</i> - or when he even got a chance to address her that way - the feline looks away and points to the east.<br/>
"It's not far now,“ he says, and indeed: When Geralt looks in the indicated direction, he now sees some smaller rocks rising much more clearly. All around it seems to become greener - they seem to be getting closer to their destination. In any case, it's not unlikely that they will find flowers there, maybe even the Melilot.<br/>
"Let's go on,“ Geralt determines.</p><p> </p><p>It's almost afternoon when they reach the rocks. It is a curiously shaped formation of several loosely connected rock walls, surrounded by much richer vegetation than what they have experienced in the past hours. There are even small meadows, and indeed flowers. Not far behind it there seems to be a woodland area. But the area is large, and if they want to find the Melilot among all the grass, bushes and plants, it could take hours.<br/>
<br/>
Adan has walked forward a bit, and when Geralt now reaches him, the elf stretches out his arm and holds him back.<br/>
"Careful," he says and points down. "There really is a cave. But the entrance is buried, it used to be back there."<br/>
With these words, he points north to one of the larger rocks. Right in front of it, there's a lot of debris, and behind it, one can vaguely see a cut in the rock. It's possible that this was actually the entrance to a cave. Anyway, this cave is located directly underneath them, and weather, time or simple decay have created a wide gap in the ground. Nevertheless you can only see it when you stand very close to it - or not, which could lead to bad accidents, Geralt thinks. The abyss is deep - maybe not so deep that you break your neck if you fall into it, but you won't get off scot-free.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt notices that he stands close to the edge of this abyss. Adan is even closer to it, and if he hadn't held Geralt back, one more step would have been enough and he might have actually fallen into it. All of a sudden, he begins to break out in a sweat. His heartbeat is too fast, the feeling is strange - he’s not in a fight, so what is this about? Normally, he should be able to analyze these sensations. He would if it were an injury. But he is neither injured nor able to think clearly. For a moment he has the feeling that he can't breathe - he has no idea why, but he gets dizzy and feels the blood draining from his face. His complexion is always pale anyway, but now it must be clearly written on his face that something is wrong. Because Adan is looking at him, frowning, saying something.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt can't hear him, he doesn't hear anything at all except his own blood rushing in his ears; he has the feeling of falling, his leg gives way, and he almost actually falls. Then, suddenly, Adan's face is very close to his, the dark eyes fixate on his. His hands grab Geralt's upper arms, hold them tight; in fact, it brings him back to reality. Adan doesn't actually seem to be worried, he rather has this typical expression of astonishment and curiosity on his face.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?“<br/>
Geralt shakes his head.<br/>
"I don't know. Nothing, probably."<br/>
The feline lets go of his arms and looks at him searchingly.<br/>
"You almost fell over, man."<br/>
"It's nothing,“ Geralt replies sharper than intended.<br/>
"Fine," Adan says almost casually, digging in his pockets. He takes out the xenogloss and says: "If you do that again, I'll call Triss right away, and that's it. Am I clear?"<br/>
<br/>
There's an unusual toughness in his voice now.<br/>
"I better leave this thing right out in the open, I have a feeling we'll find this flower soon. There's a whole bunch of yellow ..."<br/>
He never gets to finish the sentence. When he wants to point at the flowers, Adan turns around, but he stumbles over a root on the ground. It's a grotesque picture, after all, less than five minutes ago he warned Geralt not to get too close to the edge of this crevice, not realizing the danger himself. Geralt still sees the surprised face of the elf when he stumbles - and all of a sudden he falls into the crevice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title is a line from "Slow burn" by Apocalyptica. Bonus points if you have already figured out the connection between all songs featured in the chapter titles (including the main title) :)</p><p> </p><p>Here's Adan as I created him with <a href="https://artbreeder.com/">artbreeder.com</a>:</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://abload.de/image.php?img=5b888634a3b675f99f7fybj35.jpg"></a><br/>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. So never mind the darkness / We still can find a way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>— So never mind the darkness / We still can find a way —</strong>
</p><p>“Shit!"<br/>
<br/>
Geralt steps as close to the edge of the crevice as possible, carefully tapping the ground with his boots to see if there are any loose parts that might pull him down. He leans forward slightly to peer into the rift. A strange feeling creeps up on him. He suddenly feels bile in his mouth, but he pushes both aside. The abyss seems deep - how deep, exactly? - and it is dark; he can hardly see anything, especially not the elf. He calls his name, but there is no response. Geralt is thinking about what to do - how to get down, if there is a possibility via the destroyed cave entrance - when he suddenly hears sounds from down there. This could mean that the fall wasn't too bad - or that Adan is in even bigger trouble.<br/>
<br/>
The noises get louder, much too loud, and the ground on which he is standing starts to vibrate. Something is not right at all here, and Geralt steps back from the edge. Just in time: with a tremendous crash, the edge of the crevice bursts at one point. Dirt and earth fly around, and something else is literally flying: Adan, who is suddenly thrown out of the hole in the ground. He virtually catapults through the air, spinning, and with a disgusting noise he finally hits the ground. Geralt casts a quick glance at the crevice - for a moment the ground still vibrates, but the opening has only slightly enlarged, and he still can't see anything down there. Then it’s getting quiet again, and he turns away and hurries to Adan.<br/>
<br/>
He's sat up again by now, but he's as white as a sheet. His facial expression fluctuates between astonishment and horror, and a second later Geralt sees why: His left arm is grotesquely twisted, the humerus protrudes clearly out of the torn skin, the forearm hangs down as if it didn't belong to the rest. The sight is terrible, but Geralt has the feeling as if he was looking at himself from the outside when he is watching the other witcher. A completely unreal feeling creeps up on him, almost as if he gets dizzy again, and he has to force himself with enormous effort not to give in to this feeling and to stay sane.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what?" Adan says with a calmness in his voice that Geralt actually finds admirable in view of his situation. "It's actually quite good," he continues, "that you couldn't see your leg. The bones, I mean. That's... that's pretty disgusting." And with that, he suddenly rolls his eyes, turns his head to the side, pukes, gags - and passes out.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit," Geralt repeats quietly and reaches forward to carefully turn Adan on his side, so that he doesn't choke on his own vomit. The sight of the arm causes a cold shiver to run down his spine, which he does not understand, because this is by far not the worst injury he has ever seen. And he doesn’t even think of his leg, he involuntarily has to think of his own shoulder, and he knows he will have to do something similar what Emhyr did for him: he will have to touch this arm, maybe even the bone; he has to bandage the wound and splint the arm. Strangely enough, these thoughts calm him, but he soon realizes that it is not the thoughts but the actions that follow them.</p><p> </p><p>It's nothing he hasn't done before, and in his mind he repeats the thought that he's seen worse. He knows what to do, his movements are almost mechanical. It's just a fucking shame, that he has almost no equipment with him. What was he thinking? He came in armour because that's just him; he took the swords because he's convinced himself they're not safe in the palace - not quite so paranoid an idea, considering the past months. Geralt knows very well that there's a reason why he fell into the witcher mode, even though this was initially only about picking a flower. And yet he doesn't have a single potion with him. He hasn't made any for weeks because he doesn't need any; and although he still has a supply, he has refrained from taking anything with him. If this has any twisted symbolism, he doesn't give a damn about it.<br/>
<br/>
He carefully palpates the small pockets that Adan wears around his hips. And, yes, <em>he</em> actually brought some equipment. The feline flinches and slowly comes to as Geralt pulls some vials out of his pockets and examines them.<br/>
"Too weak, too strong or useless," he remarks, his voice is only very slightly trembling. Geralt hums as he realizes what the other one means: That these potions really won't do much good. Nevertheless, he takes one of them, pours a small amount on the open wound - which Adan takes surprisingly calmly, but that could also be due to the shock.<br/>
<br/>
"It'll help a bit," he says and holds the rest of the bottle out to Adan. He takes it and tips it down. In the meantime, Geralt has done what he could for the bone, and with the dressing material, which he also finds in Adan's pockets, he covers the wound. A stick has to serve as a makeshift splint. Adan looks at it all somewhat distanced, but the color has returned to his face and he is wide awake.<br/>
<br/>
"There's a Shaelmaar down there," he says.<br/>
"What? This far north?"<br/>
"I don't really care about the habitats of these fuckers, and I’m pretty sure they don’t either. Nevertheless it kicked me up here. The beast didn't think it was funny at all that I fell right onto his head."<br/>
"Shit," Geralt says for the third time. "But at least it stays down there. We should pick up this flower and get out of here."<br/>
The potion will numb the pain a little, but such an injury won't heal on its own or with any potion Adan has on him. They need Triss. They need to go back.<br/>
"Ha, yeah, brilliant idea, there's only one problem,“ Adan says and pulls a face. "When I fell down there, I lost the xenogloss."<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
Geralt can barely keep himself from saying "shit" a fourth time. He thinks feverishly, weighs the options. But there aren't any: They don't know exactly where they are, how far the next township is. Adan hasn't lost too much blood, but he's not gonna get very far with that arm. They need the xenogloss - and that means that Geralt will have to go down there. And if necessary, also fight the Shaelmaar. He does not think any further about it, even though he would rather avoid such a fight: They're tough beasts, and he hasn't got his best armour, nor a crossbow, nor potions with him. But there’s no point in thinking about the things he hasn’t got with him. He has to make do with the things he has. Geralt doesn't even think about his leg, but he doesn't notice it. That has to work as well.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm going down," he declares. "We need that thing." Adan is not saying that it's crazy or suicidal to go up against the Shaelmaar alone. He's not saying they should try to find another way, because there isn't one. The only thing he says is "I haven't got a rope with me."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't need a rope," Geralt answers. "I'll go through the buried entrance."<br/>
"Ah, yes. Do you want to dig through?" the feline asks with a voice that sounds more interested than sceptical.<br/>
"Aard?" replies Geralt calmly.<br/>
"That may take hours," says Adan doubtfully - and maybe slightly sarcastically, too.<br/>
"I appreciate your helpful comments," Geralt returns, and in this case his sarcasm is definitely superior to that of the elf. "Just sit there and keep your arm steady."<br/>
"Yes, because that is so easy," Adan grumbles and starts digging through his stuff. Surprisingly, he hasn't even lost the bag he brought with him.<br/>
"You act as if you had never broken your arm before," Geralt says, and that sounds somewhat heartless even in his ears. "Make a sling if there are any bandages left."<br/>
"Guess what, that's exactly what I'm going to do," Adan returns, irritated - the first sign that he is in pain. "And imagine something else: I really haven’t."<br/>
"Haven’t what?"<br/>
"Ever broken anything," Adan answers.<br/>
"Ah yes, very funny," Geralt says wryly.<br/>
"That's no joke," the other witcher retorts. "It's not called <em>cat school</em> for nothing."<br/>
Geralt stares at him with a frown.<br/>
"Seriously," says Adan - and since he is almost incapable of actually making jokes, Geralt must believe that.<br/>
<br/>
"Never? Not even once?" he still asks.<br/>
Adan shakes his head.<br/>
"Bites, scratches and abrasions, bruises, contusions, sprains. Open wounds, internal injuries and, yes, not to mention what claws can do - this one is from a Bruxa," he says and points to the poorly healed scar on his neck. "But not a single broken bone."<br/>
"Amazing," is all Geralt can come up with.<br/>
And indeed it is. For a witcher, Adan has surprisingly few scars anyway. He could simply be younger than expected, it's hard to tell with an elf anyway. Or he could just have been very lucky so far.<br/>
<br/>
Whatever - he will do without him for a while. Geralt turns to the buried entrance. It doesn't take hours. But it's actually quite a fiddle to remove the single chunks in such a way that he doesn't immediately spill the entrance again, due to the vibrations caused by his sign and the debris that inevitably emerges anew. At some point it is done. The entrance is exposed far enough that Geralt can dare to enter it. He looks back at Adan once more. The feline sits there quite calmly, has actually made a noose in the meantime and seems to consider whether he should meditate, which is certainly not the worst idea.<br/>
<br/>
He returns Geralt's gaze and says: "I have a decoction with me. Ensures that your reactions become faster. Maybe you should take it."<br/>
"This is not exactly standard equipment," Geralt remarks.<br/>
"Maybe not in your club," Adan replies with a grin.<br/>
He pulls a small bottle from his pockets and holds it out to Geralt. He takes it - he can use any kind of help.<br/>
<br/>
However, he decides not to take the decoction immediately, he does not yet know what to expect in the cave. He may not even have to fight. A quick in-out, where he simply grabs the xenogloss, would be a conceivable and desirable option. In the meantime, Adan has changed his mind and got up - more elegantly than one might expect given the nature of his injury.<br/>
"Might as well make myself useful and look for this flower," he says. "So we don't go back empty-handed."<br/>
Geralt gives him a nod.<br/>
"I’ll be back as soon as I can", he says - maybe also to convince himself - and disappears into the cave.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title is a line from "November rain" by Guns n' Roses. </p><p>Oh, and I've heard some of you are quite suspicious about this flower. It actually exists: <a href="https://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/m/melilo29.html#med">https://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/m/melilo29.html#med</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Make it fade away, don't break me down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>— Make it fade away, don’t break me down —</strong> </p><p>The entrance of the cave is illuminated by daylight, so Geralt can easily see that it leads diagonally downwards and also quite deep underground. This cavern is clearly natural; it is not the work of the Shaelmaar. Some parts of it have collapsed, but he is making good progress. Occasionally he has to climb over some smaller boulders, once he has to jump over a piece of loose rock that has caused a small gap.<br/>
<br/>
Twice the cave makes a bend, a kind of curve, it goes down deeper and deeper, and finally he reaches the part where Adan fell - the gap is now a few feet above him. The traces of the Shaelmaar are clearly visible: its thick, scaly back skin has left deep indentations in the clay walls. The beast has enlarged the natural part of the cave. The monster is obviously not here, which is good, but something else is missing, too: the xenogloss is not here either. Geralt carefully searches the ground for it, but the device is nowhere to be found. It may have gotten stuck on the skin of the Shaelmaar, or maybe the beast just gobbled it up.<br/>
<br/>
He looks around, takes a closer look at the cave walls and now notices that the Shaelmaar has produced another hole. The beast has dug a second entrance - and disappeared into it. Geralt approaches this entrance carefully. He peers into the dark, then hesitantly takes a few steps into the tunnel dug by the Shaelmaar. It takes a moment for his eyes to get used to the darkness. If he wanted to see more, he would need a potion or at least a torch, but there is enough light to see that this tunnel runs straight through the underground. Now what? The option to look for the Shaelmaar and to slit its belly, just to see if the device is in it, does not seem very attractive to Geralt. For now, it seems that the xenogloss is lost.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt is just about to turn around when something on the right tunnel wall attracts his attention; there is something that seems unusual to him, even if he has only seen it out of the corner of his eye. Carefully - and above all quietly, because the Shaelmaar is a blind creature, but one that can feel vibrations - he steps a little deeper into the tunnel. He runs his hand along the wall, until he reaches the spot that seems different from the rest of the tunnel. Thoughtfully, he touches the clay wall with his gloved hand. This causes some of the surrounding earth to crumble, exposing a kind of rectangle. Geralt is intrigued. Carefully he exposes more of the fragment, sweeping away earth, clay and dirt with his hand. Finally, despite the darkness of the tunnel, he recognizes what he has found, turns around immediately and returns to the original cave. He turns to the wall next to the tunnel entrance. There's some earth piled up here, which is obviously the work of the Shaelmaar. Then he starts tapping the wall - and indeed, it sounds hollow. Now Geralt is sure that he might have found a way out.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>In no time at all, he makes his way back through the cave system. Adan is standing in the flower meadows - he carries a whole bunch of yellow flowers in his right hand - and looks up when he hears him coming.<br/>
"You got that thing?"<br/>
Geralt shakes his head.<br/>
"It is no longer there," he explains.<br/>
"Crap."<br/>
"Yes. But I think there are tunnels down there."<br/>
"It's a Shaelmaar peculiarity, you know," Adan replies snappily. "They're digging tunnels."<br/>
"Brick tunnel walls. Man-made. Right next to what the beast was digging - a strange coincidence, but lucky for us."<br/>
"Why are some of these tunnels our good fortune?“<br/>
<br/>
Geralt looks at him incredulously and snaps his fingers impatiently in front of Adan's face.<br/>
"Keep up! North March was not just once a reason of dispute between various rulers. Underground fighters could have used these tunnels to smuggle people out of the city, or smuggle weapons in, whatever."<br/>
"What city?"<br/>
"I have no idea, I don't know where we are either. But if I'm right, these underground tunnels lead to a city. And there we can get help.“<br/>
"If you say so," Adan replies slowly.<br/>
Geralt shrugs.<br/>
"We can also stay here and wait until someone misses us," he suggests.<br/>
"Which in your case is probably not so soon," the elf replies thoughtfully. "I heard that you fell a little out of favor in the palace."<br/>
"That’s an exaggeration," Geralt says calmly. "Apart from that, I think it's best that someone takes care of your arm, and rather sooner than later."<br/>
"I have to agree with that."<br/>
"No idea how far we have to go," Geralt adds. "You should be sure."<br/>
Adan looks confused for a moment.<br/>
"I'm not the one with a bad leg," he says then.<br/>
Geralt seems surprised, but then replies sternly, “I, for one, will walk as long as I can walk."<br/>
"Then for once, we agree.“</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Together they make their way down into the first cave. Adan is still surprisingly agile, even with his injury, and he has no problems with the section that requires a small climbing session. But when they approach a narrow crevice that requires a jump, he hesitates. Geralt jumps over, positions himself close to the edge and stretches out his arm.<br/>
"I think I can pull you over, this way you can avoid at least some of the vibration," he says.<br/>
Adan tilts his head, squints his eyes together and looks at Geralt with a strange look.<br/>
"What did you just do?" he asks. His voice sounds almost inquisitorial.<br/>
"Huh?"<br/>
<br/>
Geralt not only looks confused, he actually is. Adan can see that very clearly now: Geralt has no idea what he means.<br/>
"How did you get over there?" he asks, now calmly.<br/>
"What? I jumped, how else?"<br/>
Adan decides to grab the still stretched out arm and lets himself be pulled over. He has a reason for doing this before he continues.<br/>
"And how did you jump?"<br/>
<br/>
Adan almost wishes Geralt could see the stupid face he's making now. But that changes quickly, because now he suddenly looks like he did when he was standing outside at the edge of the crack: his confusion gives way to an expression that the feline interprets as a kind of panic. The right arm reflexively reaches for a hold and finds the cave wall. This time Adan is faster; he grabs the other arm and says, very clearly, insistently, "Breathe. Slower."<br/>
<br/>
For some reason, this time it works immediately. Whatever got to Geralt - and this time he's pretty sure himself that it was a touch of panic - is over. His vision is clear again. He shakes off the feline. His voice shows no trace of insecurity when he says, "We'd better keep moving."<br/>
"It won't be avoided forever," Adan says, which sounds a bit cryptic even to his ears, but Geralt has already gone ahead. He follows him, shaking his head.<br/>
<br/>
Once in the larger cave, Adan does exactly what Geralt did: he examines the tunnel the Shaelmaar dug; he scans the wall, discovers the bricks.<br/>
"They would have needed a lot of time to build these walls," he says when he's back outside. "These may simply be escape tunnels from some paranoid former rulers."<br/>
"And?"<br/>
Adan sighs. "We could end up in some rotten castle. Or maybe those are forgotten entrances to elven sites. In that case, we'll end up in ruins too."<br/>
"Or in Dol Blathanna,“ Geralt retorts. "But it could simply be that my assumption is correct. We could end up in Loc Muinne, for example."<br/>
"Hm, there might actually be something to it," Adan surprisingly admits. "It could be an extension of the sewers, which were definitely used for smuggling."<br/>
He knocks on the wall that covers the tunnel entrance.<br/>
"But you realize we'd probably lure out the Shaelmaar if we exposed this entrance? It's also possible that this tunnel will eventually intersect with the monster's."<br/>
"I happen to have a very good sword with me," Geralt replies dryly.<br/>
"You really are bored, aren't you?" Adan growls. Geralt blinks.<br/>
"Were you lurking at the door?" he inquires, because after all this is exactly one of the things Emhyr said to him. But the elf just replies absentmindedly, "At which door?" and looks at the wall more closely. A short time later he has uncovered the tunnel with a well-aimed <i>Aard thrust</i> - a precise work, as Geralt has to admit.<br/>
<br/>
For a while they just wait, quiet but tense, in front of the entrance and listen. But the expected noises do not come - the Shaelmaar seems to be deep inside its self-dug cave system.<br/>
"So, shall we do it?" Geralt asks.<br/>
Adan fumbles with his free hand at the bag that is miraculously still hanging over his shoulder and digs out a torch.<br/>
"Let's do it. That hurts like hell, I'm certainly not going to sit around here all night waiting to see if and when Triss misses us," he replies and holds the torch out to Geralt.<br/>
"Would you mind? I only have one hand free."<br/>
Geralt lights the torch and they enter the underground passage.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>They walk in silence for a while. They are intentionally quiet, so that the Shaelmaar, if it is somewhere parallel to this tunnel, will not hear them. Even a brick wall will not stop the beast. The tunnel soon makes a bend and leads even deeper into the earth. The air is stuffy, the silence gloomy. It is clear that no one has been in these tunnels for a long time, maybe not for decades. And they seem almost endless. It's quite possible that they have collapsed or are buried somewhere, like at the beginning of the cave where Geralt discovered the entrance. As usual, he didn't give it much thought. He didn't come up with a plan - how could he, with few options available to him. In any case, simply waiting had never seemed like an option to him. And if this is in vain, because at some point they don't get anywhere, that is his responsibility. He just wonders why Adan is so willing to play along. It's true that the matter with his arm is somewhat urgent - Geralt himself knows that best. But if they really get stuck somewhere and have to go back, they haven't won anything. Sure, the feline still has a few potions. The ones he has with him are a bit risky in his condition, but they are definitely a possibility in case it all takes longer.<br/>
<br/>
It's hard to say how long they are walking, but probably not more than an hour, when the tunnel makes another bend and the sight tears Geralt away from his thoughts. Right in front of them another, much bigger cave, opens up. Here, for the first time, one can see traces of the fact that these tunnels were indeed used once. It's not much: the remains of a torch, a torn, stained piece of cloth that may have once served as a bandage. This cave is clearly of natural origin and it is from here that the brick tunnels began. Right in front of them, blocked by a heavy and stable iron grid, is the entrance to another tunnel, from which a small, stinking trickle flows and seeps into the floor of the cave.<br/>
<br/>
"I was right," says Adan. "The sewers."<br/>
"<i>You</i> were right?" Geralt replies mockingly.<br/>
"Fine, you suspected that the tunnels lead to Loc Muinne," Adan admits. "But you probably didn't know that the sewers were a drug transfer point. And I was also right about these tunnels possibly being escape tunnels. Because that's just a junction. The actual sewers obviously lead into the river.“<br/>
"We don't even know if this is Loc Muinne," Geralt says.<br/>
Adan grins.<br/>
"Yes, we do."<br/>
He moves closer to the wall next to the grid and points to a handful of small symbols carved into the clay.<br/>
<br/>
"What is that?" Geralt asks. It almost looks like writing, but if it is, it's from a language he doesn't understand.<br/>
"Tramp's marks. Some kind of instruction, maybe even a warning. That's definitely Loc Muinne. It's the exit we never found. Only that somebody must have, because now it’s blocked."<br/>
"I don't even wanna know what that means or how you know that,“ mumbles Geralt. "Anyway, this is obviously our exit - we just have to get through these bars."<br/>
"Oh, don't worry about it," Adan says. "I've got everything we need to make a little bomb. Or maybe we'd better say you should do that," he adds, pointing somewhat helplessly at his arm in the sling. "It might be a bit dangerous with the left hand."<br/>
"You're carrying explosives," Geralt replies incredulously. "Were you gonna blow up the flowers or what?“<br/>
"I like to be prepared for everything," Adan defends himself, slightly snappish. "Should I have left these things at the palace? Those stupid spies are always breathing down my neck anyway. You better be thankful that I don't have a finished bomb with me, because otherwise you probably could have scraped my remains off the meadow."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt is indeed grateful for this, and without another word he takes the things he needs to build a bomb. It has never been exactly his favourite task, and he might not be as skilled at it as Lambert, but when he finally is finished, he is sure it will be enough. The thought of the Shaelmaar still bothers him, and surely an explosion would draw the beast out - if it has really ventured that far. But after the bomb is placed and detonates, the grate is blown up and removed, and they wait a moment, holding their breath. What happens is nothing. Wherever the beast is, it does not show itself.<br/>
So Geralt and Adan have every reason to believe that they are off the hook. And that even though it soon becomes clear that their way will lead them right through the sewers with all the consequences: it stinks horribly, and they literally wade through shit.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"Who the hell comes up with the idea to build escape tunnels at the end of sewers?" Geralt swears.<br/>
"Desperate people?" Adan suggests, as he carefully balances on the slippery stones - which works surprisingly well, considering that his injury should actually unbalance him. "Maybe the brick tunnels are older than the sewers," he continues. "When the city was expanded, someone could have simply taken advantage of the fact that there were tunnels already, until at some point there was a need to use them elsewhere."<br/>
"I don't really care," Geralt returns annoyed. "The important thing is that we'll soon reach some ..."<br/>
He breaks off, because now there is clearly a vibration in the ground. They haven't reached the main tunnels of the sewers yet, here the soil is still clayey, not bricked up like in the places where the sewage is fed into the river. Therefore, the vibrations are easily perceptible, although they still seem a little far away. These vibrations are different, that is immediately obvious to the witchers. The Shaelmaar digs not that deep, and when it moves, it is impetuous and loud, not so even, almost elegant, as what both of them are feeling right now.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Adan says, and he actually never says that, but Geralt immediately knows why he does now.<br/>
"Where there's a Shaelmaar," Adan begins, and Geralt adds with a sinister expression, "...a giant centipede is not far away."<br/>
<br/>
Obviously they both learned from the same bestiary, and this fact is hard to forget: giant centipedes feed on creatures that themselves feed on the faeces of Shaelmaars. There's no point in asking why both species are so far north - their habitats are limited enough, not only by witchers, like those of most monsters. They are rare outside of Toussaint, but not exactly uncommon. And who wouldn't follow their favourite food across the continent? Geralt draws his sword. He throws a short glance at Adan.<br/>
"You better stay behind me."<br/>
Adan laughs one of his joyless little laughs.<br/>
"Certainly not," he replies, and even though it might look a bit inelegant, he can also draw one of his swords with his left hand.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt will not argue with him; he would have done the same. But neither of them is prepared for the centipede to approach so fast - and to crash through the earth only seconds later. The unexpected impact throws them both to the ground. Adan curses, Geralt is thrown against the tunnel wall. At this point, the channel is barely wide enough to accommodate such a monster. In fact, the beast's body hits the walls on the side, scrapes down clay and debris and dirt, and it swirls up the brackish water and sprays them with even more filth.<br/>
<br/>
It is still only partially sticking out of the ground, but you can clearly see that it is not a full-grown animal. Or it is simply a poorly fed specimen - its skin is hardly shiny, it looks almost thin and its antennae are limp. But Geralt has seen too many of them to be fooled by that. He turns around for a second. Adan, behind him, now has obvious problems getting up: the floor is slippery, he sits knee-deep in the stinking water and tries to keep his injured arm up. He looks at Geralt, and his facial expression fluctuates between being extremely confused and having some kind of insight that Geralt seems to be missing.<br/>
<br/>
But he does not understand it, he does not know why, not yet; and so he thinks it is because of the monster. Amazingly, it hasn't moved much so far - it's narrow in the tunnels, and it takes time to bore a long body through the earth. Sewers are not the place for it, neither for them nor for Shaelmaar, and if Loc Muinne is indeed above these sewers, the city has a big problem that could literally end in shit sooner or later.<br/>
<br/>
It is this moment that the giant centipede chooses to stretch out the front part of its long body, to extend its powerful mandibles. Perhaps it is already preparing to activate its venom glands, but it does not get that far. Geralt is still standing there, pressed against the wall; he has hardly moved since the beast threw him against it and it is quite possible that it doesn't even notice him now. So it fixes on Adan, who still tries to stand up, but it is slippery and he is too busy not letting the disgustingly brackish water get to his arm. Geralt almost has the feeling as if time stands still, because in one single moment he takes in several things at once. He remembers the potion the elf gave him. The action is almost as fast as the thought, and uncorking the bottle and taking the liquid are almost one.<br/>
<br/>
The effect is immediate, his stomach is cramping up, the stuff is strong and disgusting, but otherwise he doesn't really notice any immediate changes. It doesn't matter, however, because time hasn't really slowed down. He still sees everything very clearly and as if everything is happening almost simultaneously. The head of the giant centipede rushes forward, but it doesn't attack yet, it fixes its prey, and Geralt sees Adan lifting his sword. He also knows that this won't work. The tunnels are narrow, and that's their advantage, because the beast can hardly make any progress, and even if its venom is painful, they can survive that; it's the body that poses a risk. But here it can't fight with its long abdomen; it is still partly stuck in the ground, and it won't be able to curl up either.<br/>
<br/>
Whether it perceives this is unclear. Perhaps it is simply hungry and willing to take any risk, and a man, even more so when wounded, is usually easy prey. Even two men, if they were ordinary people. But they are not, and the monster doesn't know that. Its head leaps forward, Adan pulls up the sword, but he himself does not get up, because the ground still moves. It still vibrates, it just won’t stand still. And Geralt jumps forward, and his movements are as mechanical as if they were rehearsed, but he is much faster than usual. He doesn't have time to think about it, but the potion has accelerated his reflexes, and although there's hardly any room, his movements are almost elegant. He jumps right in front of Adan, and his sword hits the underside of the monster's jaws. There are strange, high-pitched tones to be heard, and maybe this thrust has activated the glands, or at least it's trying to secrete poison, but it only manages an almost pitiful spray. The poison hits them anyway. He hears Adan screaming something behind him, and even though he himself feels one or two drops pierce the skin of his cheek, feeling like a dagger is being thrust through it, Geralt is not distracted from the task at hand.<br/>
<br/>
He casts <i>Yrden</i>, hits the head with a precisely aimed blow, and the permanent vibrations, the attempts to pierce the earth, stop abruptly. The centipede’s head is directly above him, poison still dripping from the jaws, but it can’t move, and the antennae can't tremble anymore. Geralt strikes from below, because it’s only there one can hurt these beasts; not at their hard outer skin, which can break a sword, only at their soft underside are they truly vulnerable. Time seems to stand still, and now it's clearly an effect triggered by the potion. Time doesn't actually slow down; Geralt has simply become faster. The sword strikes through skin, through rubber-like layers, and when the head separates from the rest of the body, they're both covered in blood and poison and saliva. Geralt throws <i>Quen</i> over them both just in time, and the worst bounces off the shield. The monster’s body twitches for a moment, goo and slime mix with the waste water, and all the rubbish flows on towards the river without stirring. The shield dies, and Geralt turns to Adan. There is this expression on his face again: still a bit confused, but not because of the fight; and furthermore, more clearly now, there is recognition.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
"Shit, mate, your leg,“ he says, and Geralt is confused, but then he looks down at himself, and now he perceives himself very, very clearly, maybe for the first time in a long time. He <i>kneels</i> in this heap of shit and water and dirt, and that shouldn't be possible at all, because this very morning he could hardly bend his left leg. It's the wrong timing, and yet he remembers much too clearly, like in a strange deja-vu, or maybe in an implanted, magically constructed memory. But that's not true, because the memory is real, as real as Emhyr's arms around him in his sleep, which he pulls back as usual at the break of dawn; as clear as his voice telling him to stay in bed, as plain as his quasi-ritualistic response and the irresistible reflex to get up with the first birdsong. There are details he prefers to remember more than others: the frizzy little dark curls that tickle his nose, they will be gone in a few minutes. The kiss, soft and short, because there are commitments that cannot be postponed. He remembers this morning, he has no reason to get up and does it anyway, if only to get rid of the deep-seated pain in his leg that hasn't left him for weeks. And for weeks now getting up has been difficult like so many other things. Even when he has gotten used to it. He remembers this feeling with stunning clarity. It is real, it <i>seems</i> real to him, as real as the pain, how could it not be?<br/>
<br/>
It is the wrong timing, but moments come rushing at him, fragments and memories, doubts and questions for which there is no time. There are still things he doesn't want to remember.<br/>
"Maybe it's for the best," Adan suddenly says. "I think the flowers are mush."<br/>
And they look at each other, both kneeling in sewage and shit and dirt, and they start laughing. When the potion subsides and Geralt's stomach cramps up again, he realizes that he doesn't even know the ingredients. And he retches, everything is coming up, and even if he doesn't want to think about it, he realizes that now he's not only puking out the side effects of the potion. He gags and spits things in the dirty water that lie below the poison of the potion. He vomits it up until there's nothing left but bile, but he knows there's still <i>something</i> there. And he wonders if he can face it the same way he faced that monster. And maybe it's a lot like that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title is a line from "All I need" by "Within Temptation".</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Love is control / I'll die if I let go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>— Love is control / I’ll die if I let go — </strong>
</p><p>A few children run away screaming when they finally get out of the sewers. They are not to blame: Geralt and Adan are wet, smudged and filthy from top to bottom; they have a ghastly smell on them, and what sticks to them is unspeakable. But the sheer fact that Adan is an elf seems to mean something in Loc Muinne, even nowadays - even after everything the city has gone through. It still takes them a while to find someone who will just listen to them, but that is enough. Still, there is no one here who knows anything about magic anymore, so it takes quite a long time until the message reaches Triss.<br/>
<br/>
When they finally step out of the portal into familiar surroundings, the sorceress can neither hide her surprise nor her dismay. She claps her hand over her mouth, then takes Adan aside and starts to scold him while she takes care of his arm. Emhyr is also there, and what he thinks at the sight of them is for once clearly written on his face: he is bewildered. Geralt has no idea how much of the original information they transmitted has been lost, but he knows that scrutinizing look: he wants to make sure there is nothing worse hidden under all this dried shit and filth. But Geralt stands there, apparently intact and whole, and Emhyr quickly gets himself under control again. They are not alone, so his voice is as calm and composed as always.<br/>
<br/>
"I think I told you not to break anything."<br/>
"I didn't," Geralt replies. "Anyway, it wasn't my fault."<br/>
"This is shit, Geralt," Triss shouts behind him. "<em>Literal</em> shit. Do you realize what kind of infections this can cause?"<br/>
"It's not my fault," he repeats.<br/>
"Well, it kind of is," Adan mumbles. Geralt turns around and gives him a nasty look.<br/>
<br/>
"One month, Geralt," says Emhyr now, and Geralt turns back to him in astonishment.<br/>
"Hm?"<br/>
"We had peace and quiet here for a whole month. Then I send you out to pick flowers, and you create chaos."<br/>
He knows that this is Emhyr's way of expressing his worries, especially since they are not alone, but right now this cool serenity combined with sarcasm is quite annoying.<br/>
"I create chaos? Loc Muinne has a Shaelmaar problem, you can't blame me for that. Someone should take care of it. And as for this plant... I don't think we need it anymore."<br/>
He sees Emhyr and Triss glancing at each other, but even now, he can't put the pieces together.<br/>
"We should talk," Emhyr declares. "But you should clean yourself first, I think."<br/>
And Geralt, with dried, unspeakable things falling off his body in the meantime, thinks so too.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
After an extensive bath, both Emhyr and Triss await him in Emhyr's private chambers, which is strange enough. Triss also seems to find the informal setting unusual: she stands next to the wall, looking at the sword, Emhyr’s family heirloom. She seems tense, almost nervous. So Geralt asks, "How's Adan?"<br/>
She turns to him and replies in a tone as if she was surprised that he even asks, "This is less bad than it looked. He'll be back to his old self in a few days."<br/>
"Well, aren't we lucky," Geralt mumbles dryly.<br/>
Emhyr, sitting, points to a chair opposite him and says, somehow impatiently, "Sit down."<br/>
Geralt knows this tone, and he is surprised, because it doesn't fit into this place at all. He sits down, hesitantly and with a feeling of uneasiness.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" he asks. "Is it because of this flower? It's probably useless after all this dirt, but obviously I don't need it anymore..."<br/>
Since he's sitting there completely normally with two perfectly bent knees, it's indeed obvious, but he's still amazed when Triss says, "We already know that."<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
"I’m trying to tell you that we already <i>knew that</i>, Geralt," she replies gently. "Or rather, I suspected it."<br/>
"Suspected what?" he asks, and the unpleasant feeling he had since entering the room intensifies. Slowly, he realizes why. He looks at Emhyr, who returns his gaze serenely, but there are things in that look that he usually never shows in front of others.<br/>
"This plant," Triss says reluctantly. "It doesn't quite have the characteristics I told you about. That is, some of them, yes, but there's no miracle cure that I said I needed it for."<br/>
"This spell does not exist? Then why..."<br/>
Geralt looks at Triss, then at Emhyr.<br/>
<br/>
"You made it all up?“ he asks confusedly. "Why the hell?"<br/>
"Not <em>us</em>, I made it up," Triss admits. "You can take your anger out on me if you want, but please believe that I meant well."<br/>
"I don't know yet what I should be angry about at all,“ Geralt replies surprisingly calm.<br/>
"Let me get this straight: you're sending me away to get a plant that can't do what you told me. Why?"<br/>
Triss sighs and begins to walk restlessly up and down the room.<br/>
"You were just supposed to believe that it would do that," she finally says.<br/>
"So you were gonna give me some potion that I was supposed to <em>believe</em> would cure my leg. But at the same time, you knew I wouldn't actually need it."<br/>
Suddenly, he looks at Emhyr.<br/>
"And you knew that, too, but you decided not to tell me and to play along."<br/>
It's a statement, not a question, although the unspoken accusation is clearly resonating.<br/>
<br/>
But he doesn't let him answer, he looks away, back at Triss and says, "So everybody here except me knew that something was wrong."<br/>
He’s slowly getting annoyed, that much is clear. Triss comes closer. She seems to be debating whether or not to put her hand on his shoulder; she doesn’t and remarks, "Adan didn't know, if that's what you're thinking."<br/>
"Adan is the last one I thought of," Geralt replies, looking at Emhyr. "But I'd like to know what's going on here anyway. All I know is that this leg is working again. I don't understand why or why you think it should have been all along.“<br/>
"Not all along," Triss says. Now she hesitates briefly, then pulls up a chair and sits down very close to him. She sees clearly how suspicious he is; his whole body seems to be tensing up. He looks like an animal on the run. <em>Now</em> he is angry, as his clenched jaw reveals, but not only that. She knows why: if there is one thing you can lose Geralt's trust with, it is lies. He does not easily give away his trust or friendship, and if he does, he would probably walk through fire for that person. Emhyr knows that too, and that's why he was against this plan in the first place. She convinced him because she believed she had made a mistake. And because she had good reasons. She meant well, maybe too well. And now it's her task to pick up the pieces, because either Geralt really still has no idea, or he simply refuses to understand.<br/>
<br/>
"You remember that conversation we had a few days ago?" Triss begins.<br/>
Geralt's face is blank as he answers.<br/>
"You said magic can't do anything about it anymore. Yeah, I remember. I probably should have been suspicious when you came up with that potion."<br/>
"But you weren't, and there's a reason for that."<br/>
<br/>
She looks at him insistently, as if she is searching for something in his face - but he doesn't know what it is; or maybe he does, but he won't let it show yet.<br/>
"Well, yes. I said magic won't help much anymore, but you got it wrong. I've been suspecting for some time that your leg is actually pretty good. And I wanted to tell you that, talk to you about it, but we never got around to it, remember? We were interrupted, there were obligations that couldn't be delayed..."<br/>
"It was not <em>pretty good</em>,“ Geralt interjects with a frown.<br/>
"No, you're right, because it wasn't before," Triss admits. "But... listen. Geralt, you've fallen pretty far. 30, maybe 40 feet? Not many people get a chance to survive this. As for you, well, I think it was mostly your stubbornness that held you together in the end."<br/>
"What’s your point?"<br/>
"My point is, that some things do not go without consequences. You should know that better than anyone. Some events cause more than physical pain."<br/>
<br/>
He knows that, of course he does. He occasionally dreams of the fall, but in his dreams he always just keeps falling and never hits the ground. But he <em>did</em> hit the ground, and this memory is much worse and much more painful than just falling. It is worse than the memory of the healing, which is only buried anyway. It is worse than anything before, and there has been enough already. It is not true that time heals all wounds, it only causes scars. Some are simply thinner than others, while some memories are stronger than others. But it wasn't his stubbornness that kept him alive. It was his promise to Emhyr that he would not die. That wasn't exactly what he said, but it was exactly what he needed to convince himself.<br/>
<br/>
As if she had read his mind - but he knows Triss would never do that - she now says, "You have a certain pattern, you know? You'd rather endure pain than inflict it."<br/>
"That is no explanation,“ Geralt replies obstinately. "Why should I intentionally think that the leg won't get better if the healing was already successful?"<br/>
"Not intentionally," Triss says gently. "Some injuries can cause trauma that we do not always understand. You were impatient, and I suppose you were worried. Because it's this leg that's been causing you problems since then."<br/>
It's almost amusing how hard she tries not to mention Vilgefortz's name. As if she's afraid it'll bring forth demons that are buried much deeper. That memory never disappeared, and as for him, he closed the chapter satisfactorily. But he can hardly kill a mountain or blame it for falling off its cliff. And the person who is actually to blame for it is also already dead.<br/>
<br/>
"So now what?" he finally says. "Was it all in my head?"<br/>
"Not all of it," answers Triss. "As for the pain, well, I suppose it will continue to accompany you.“ Regretfully, she continues, "I can't conjure anything away from what was already there. This damage was already done. What happened now is hard to say. I suppose you actually didn’t believe you could survive that, even if you wanted to convince us all. But you did survive, you were healed, but you know such spells are sometimes unpredictable. Your body has failed you, and some healings happen too fast for the mind to grasp. A lot has happened in those past weeks. You were wounded, you died, were in danger again, hurt again … You haven't had a chance to process it all. You were just <em>healed</em>, and you might have thought that people expected you to just carry on as before. Or maybe you expected yourself to do so."<br/>
He senses the truth behind these words, because he remembers the doubts and questions he has repressed. That doesn't mean he understands. It still doesn't make sense to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you just tell me?"<br/>
"Do you really think you would have believed us?" Emhyr suddenly says. His words force Geralt to look at him again. "I didn't want to believe it myself. If I had told you that you probably hadn't processed what happened on that mountain, that maybe you just refused to believe that there was nothing wrong with you - would you have believed it?"<br/>
Geralt must admit that he probably wouldn't have.<br/>
"Why did you change your mind?" he asks. "You have to admit it was a crazy plan."<br/>
"Maybe. I realized too late that something was bothering you. And I would have done anything, however crazy, if it would have helped you.“</p><p><br/>
</p><p>His honesty is shocking. Geralt understands two things: that Emhyr has begun to trust Triss - as much as he would trust a sorceress, even his own court sorceress. And that he probably comprehends what's going on inside him like nobody else. Geralt realizes that Emhyr himself would have wished that someone had done something like this for him, when he was younger. When he needed it. But there had been no miracle cure for what had happened to him; for his own trauma, sheer faith in himself wouldn't have helped.<br/>
<br/>
And he understands something else: that this is also the key to why they were attracted to each other. Emhyr himself had admitted that Geralt's desperation once had revealed his innermost qualities to him. It had sounded strange, but there was truth in it. And Geralt? He hadn't fallen for power, nor strength, nor even a handsome face. They had recognized each other’s common ground, without ever bringing it up. Kindred spirits in agony, but at the same time so much more.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not unusual, Geralt," says Triss. "It can happen to anyone. Even to witchers. Even to you."<br/>
"But why..."<br/>
"Why did your, let's call it, blockade, dissolve just now?" she interrupts him. "I think because you were distracted. Because you were <em>needed</em>. You saved Adan. In that sense, your penchant for trouble was what helped you."<br/>
"So this part wasn't planned?" Geralt growls.<br/>
Triss smiles.<br/>
"I assure you it wasn't. I admit that the portal opened this far from the flower meadows on purpose. I was hoping that a little diversion would help you relax."<br/>
"With the feline?" he snorts.<br/>
<br/>
Geralt sits there in silence for a moment, lets her words sink in. It's nothing that's easily swallowed. Why would he block himself? Why would he deliberately misunderstand her words, why shouldn’t he trust that the cure worked? If Triss is right, he'll be forced to face his nightmares. He'll have to relive the memories to overcome them. Repressing things always worked for him so far. But maybe someday this barrel will be full. Maybe it's already overflowed, and all he can do now is clean it up.<br/>
<br/>
"But if distraction helps, why didn't it happen when..."<br/>
Geralt breaks off and looks at Emhyr. He briefly pulls a wry face - it's obviously not a topic he wants to discuss in front of Triss, of all people. But the sorceress is much too smart not to understand what Geralt wanted to say. And she has no qualms about bringing it up.<br/>
"Geralt," she says with a cocky smile, "I can assure you of one thing: you've never been distracted during sex."<br/>
For a moment Triss simply enjoys the sight of two embarrassed faces. Then she stands up, puts a hand on Geralt's shoulder and says, "I think both of you have a lot to talk about. But I want to tell you one more thing: you are neither abnormal nor crazy, so don't start burying yourself in guilt again. All this may be rare, but it's not unusual. We'll look into it, and we'll figure it out."<br/>
<br/>
Then she nods at Emhyr and turns to the door.<br/>
"Oh, one more thing," she says quickly. "Adan is not quite as annoying as you think."<br/>
Then she leaves, and Geralt stares after her in surprise.<br/>
"Do you think she... and the elf…?"<br/>
Emhyr frowns.<br/>
"You are talking about my court sorceress," he replies. "Frankly, I don’t want to think about that."<br/>
Then he leans over until he is very close to Geralt, but he does not touch him, not yet. He just looks at him searchingly.<br/>
"Well, are you angry?" he finally asks bluntly.<br/>
"Yes. No. I don't know," Geralt answers, confused.<br/>
"You understand why I agreed to this charade?"<br/>
"I think so," Geralt reluctantly admits. "Though I still do not see why mere faith should have helped me."<br/>
"You would have believed in yourself, not in this supposed miraculous cure," Emhyr replies perceptively. "And you yourself once explained to me, that the mind is a fragile thing."<br/>
<br/>
That's right, that's what he said. And he knows exactly when: after Triss tried to free him from a curse - with a healing spell that couldn't do that - and that brought back memories that were so painful that an ordinary person would have gone crazy over them. Perhaps this is another reason why he inwardly refused the obviously successful cure.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"You look tired," Emhyr remarks. "And confused. Are you all right?"<br/>
Geralt feels as if a tension has been released from his body that he didn't even suspect was there. And yes, he suddenly feels tired without knowing why. In fact, he's feeling a lot of things, mostly confusing emotions.<br/>
"I suppose so," he replies. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about me <em>breaking</em> anything again today."<br/>
"Sometimes I really don't know why I love you," Emhyr mumbles with a feigned sigh.<br/>
Now Geralt bends forward so that their knees touch. Their faces are very close now.<br/>
"Oh, do you? Prove it."<br/>
Emhyr raises his brows.<br/>
"You want me to <em>prove</em> it to you? I thought I just did."<br/>
"Words," Geralt says softly, challenging. "Only words."<br/>
<br/>
That voice is familiar to Emhyr. If he's surprised that Geralt is using it right now, he certainly doesn't show it. And maybe he isn’t surprised at all. It seems to him Geralt doesn't even realize how complex he is and how easy to read all the same - at least to him.<br/>
"You can't solve all your issues with sex, wolf," he says anyway, but his voice is soft, and from Geralt's small smile he recognizes that he thinks he has already won. The nickname, which he uses so rarely, just slipped out of his mouth - Geralt already has this effect on him. By the quiet little laugh he can tell that Geralt knows this very well.<br/>
"I don't want to solve any issues. And I don’t want distraction. I just want you."<br/>
<br/>
Their faces are so close now that they feel each other's breath. The kiss is as inevitable as anything else. All those thoughts, the many words, the feelings: it has been exhausting. Exhausting in a way that can only be cared for in one cure. That is not difficult. The clothes fall piece by piece, like the doubts, the resentment, the insecurity; until there is nothing left but mutual desire, and it doesn't matter what it was born of.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>So they end up on the floor, on the carpet; it is not important, because it doesn't matter where they are now. It only matters who they are, who they are to each other. And there's no doubt about it. They are two parts that belong together, in every respect: they fit to one another in many ways. And they know many ways to show that to each other. The touches are as tender as they are confident and precise, performed by hands that know exactly what they are doing. And at some point, there's nothing left but feeling. Lips meet skin, hands and mouths explore every part of their bodies. Eyes are locked onto each other: two different kinds of amber in this light. Hot breath is exchanged as if drowning bodies had to save each other. They treat passion as a play, until they don't and Emhyr takes control. Soft touches turn into firm grips, the kisses become more demanding, and the breathing becomes louder.<br/>
<br/>
Quiet noises turn into moans. The glances: now a brief verification of consent. A little pain, a lot of pleasure; the speed changes like the mood, it grows rougher, faster, harder. Searching hands find each other, they entwine like their bodies. Things are whispered into an ear, and in spite of everything, there is quiet laughter; chopped off and quickly turning into sighing. At some point there is only warmth from bodies meeting each other; sweat, a muffled scream. Control, to the point where a name is called so loudly that it doesn't matter if anyone hears it. This time no one is holding back. And finally, with Emhyr upon him and inside him and eventually all over him, Geralt has a feeling that is not complex at all: this is home.<br/>
<br/>
Afterwards, a familiar picture: Geralt lies stretched out on his stomach, spent and defeated in the only way that seems right to him. He is about to fall asleep, although his senses are still sharp and bright and he perceives everything very clearly. Emhyr's hand on his butt, a gesture that can be both tender as well as possessive, he feels as much as the pain in his leg. It's there, and it will probably never leave him again completely, but that's not new. And it is good that this feeling is as real as anything else.<br/>
<br/>
Emhyr, lying on his side, watches him as he always does; he may draw another sketch in his mind to store in his memories or just enjoy the moment, it's hard to tell.<br/>
"Was that proof enough?" he finally asks, completely calm again.<br/>
He does not get an answer, but what is visible under this tangled mass of still slightly wet hair is probably a smile. "You need to get rid of that beard," he adds. This rather random complaint earns only a faint snort. And then, after a while, out of the blue, Emhyr asks, "Did you know that in Nilfgaard they marry in black?"<br/>
"All colors as long as they're black," Geralt mumbles sleepily. "That doesn't surprise me. Why are you telling me this now?"<br/>
Emhyr doesn't answer, and one heartbeat later Geralt cracks his eyes open. He turns on his side, leans on one elbow and watches Emhyr searchingly.<br/>
"Is this your idea of a proposal?" he asks, and there is amazement in his voice, but also a lot more, and all of it shows on his stunned face.<br/>
"What do you expect?" Emhyr replies serenely. "Did you think I'd get down on my knees? I think I scraped them on that stupid carpet."<br/>
After a moment of silence, perhaps to catch up, Geralt continues, "I think I said <em>sometime</em>.“<br/>
"You said <em>one day</em>. That can be any time - today, six months from now, a year from now."<br/>
<br/>
Geralt looks at him intently. As usual, Emhyr's facial expression is quite a miracle to Geralt, while his own face reflects the most different emotions. Emhyr returns the gaze with composure and patience. <em>Patience</em>. Which has never been his strong point, but which he is obviously quite capable of.<br/>
<br/>
"I will not move in here," Geralt suddenly says, and his words come quickly, seriously and determined. Considering that he's been practically living there for weeks, this statement is indeed strange, but he doesn't give Emhyr time to answer.<br/>
"I never said..."<br/>
"I will never stop being a witcher."<br/>
"I would never..."<br/>
"Do not think that I will <em>dance</em>.“<br/>
"But ..."<br/>
"Yes."<br/>
"Yes, what?" Emhyr asks, glad to finally have his say.<br/>
"The answer is yes," replies Geralt, and then he turns back on his stomach and closes his eyes. He misses the tiny moment when surprise actually shows on Emhyr's face. But his smile makes it clear that he doesn't really need to see that.<br/>
<br/>
And now he actually falls asleep, and his last thought is, "Holy shit. I'm getting married."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SURPRISE! Come on. Wasn't it? :) Well, thank you for reading! Still looking forward to hearing from you, join me on <a href="https://twitter.com/DreamAndroids">Twitter</a> or <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/do-androids-dream-ao3acc">Tumblr</a> if you like. Or go back to the start and re-read everything to find my breadcrumbs ... don't forget the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNN0QGNgLD0ES9qu2J0I_wcGv5meij8Cr">playlist</a>. </p><p>Where is the wedding fic? That's here: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466631/chapters/64489780">"Harvest of Sorrow".</a> </p><p>Chapter title is a line from "All within my hands", Metallica.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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